


Cleanse

by Vieraqueen (Zealkin)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Dragon Age AU, Dragon age inquistion AU, F/F, F/M, M/M, also cullen is replaced by evangeline in my canon, and the inquisitor isnt an andraste preaching schmuck i mean she's an elf what the hell right?, au where the breach isn't anticlimatic, characters actually have full and encompasing arcs, eventual sollavellan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4069123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zealkin/pseuds/Vieraqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cataclysm and mayhem were two words Shaeva was familiar with; she caused them to happen after all. She had been trained to sidestep being in the middle of things, to be just out of reach to make the most clinical and precise decisions. One was always more rational when not in danger of dying. Common sense yes, but valuable in a Thedas that was now quite literally ripping from the seams. She saw circles despair, nobility fall, and darkspawn pillage all from afar, witnessing what they unraveled, and how to use that chaos to her benefit. She was never supposed to be close enough for it to actually affect her. But, after the annulment at Dairsmuid, she wasn’t sure she could afford to sidestep any longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This Fic will follow some events of DAI’s canon, but will have some deviations from the choices given to you in the game, as well as an entirely different ending. The systems of magic as well as the canon rules of the world still apply, and any headcanons attributed to the story are of my own making.

When one is in trouble, one should pray. When one is discontent, one should call upon the maker to change one’s life for the better. When one is afraid of death and the unknown, one should have faith that they will live and breathe to see the next day because their god loves them, because they had faith. Faith was supposed to be healing; it was supposed to bring out the best in people. From what the seers in her homeland told her, faith was one of the purest spirits in the fade; remarkably steadfast, honest, and caring.

It was also the easiest to corrupt.

What was true faith then? What did it feel like to throw yourself behind an invisible God that never spoke to you? Did it involve the murdering of innocents? Was it the destruction and brutalization of a people simply because they did not believe as you did? That kind of faith— fumbling in the dark with a sword in hand— was the result of a sick people and an even sicker institution. Shaeva lamented them both as she lay on the cold stone ground.

Those same sick faithful would tell her that she had brought this upon herself. That even Shartan was an Andrastian, and that elves could be a part of their world if they only tried.

She had pretended to clean bedpans to get into Haven. She had been the perfect elven serving maid: buxom, quiet, and hardworking. She had even tried to be devout and faithful, and look where it had gotten her! Granted, it was all a ruse to spy on the Conclave, but it had been quite the ruse indeed.

She had seen the elves that took their role as Andrastians seriously, who prayed endlessly to move up from their station, from poor elf to godly poor elf. Yet, were these devout elves and their children not ignored and reviled by the chantry as soon as they desired to be more than stepping stones?

Shaeva had no desire to be an Andrastian faithful. She believed in what was in front of her.

So she would not pray as she lie on the ground of a prison, with swords trained on her every move. She could not have faith when she could barely stay awake through the pain that coursed through her palm, and she could not believe in anything more than a swift death.

 

She wasn’t sure how long she had been holed up there, how long the sky had been ringing, or if she had eaten or not.

Shaeva hated being unsure.

Hours went by. She judged the time by the movements of the guards, and the buzzing of her hand.

A shuffling of feet, the unsheathing of a sword, the retreat of footsteps, the opening of a door, the door slamming shut, the darkness creeping in, the sweat from the soldiers drip-dripping on the floor. The light from the door telling her it was late afternoon. The light from her hand, telling her next to nothing but pain. Then, there was the stationed Templar. Suppressing her magic, scuffing his greaves _accidentally_ on her broken form and retreating. There was the scraping of tableware, and solemn, hushed conversations. The smell of a heartier meal that meant the end of the day. It was evening. They spoke of the Divine, and the comrades that they had lost. A muttered “knife-ear” slipped past tired lips, and oh, how she missed Andrastian candor!

Then her hand would sting, and the stinging would turn into burning, and the burning would become an inferno. She forced herself not to scream. Her pride would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her in pain.

She sat up, breathing hard, and tried to find something to focus on besides the pain. She zeroed in on the guards instead, and forced herself to look into the eyes of those that held her captive. The first was but a slight of a boy, likely a recruit thrown into armor, and given a longsword before he could shake off puberty. Weak legs, and equally weak resolve. He didn’t want to kill her, but was told he should. He wanted to go home, probably to a Lothering-esque town in Ferelden, where his mother’s stew didn’t taste half as terrible as the slop they were fed here. It was still terrible, mind you, but it was a nostalgic sort of terrible. Shaeva could respect that.

The next guard was older, seasoned. She had probably let someone go to the Conclave in her stead, and they had died where she would have likely stood. She blamed herself, but she blamed Shaeva more. Her sword was always _en garde_ , pointing at Shaeva as if she could sweat daggers and toss them at her captives. She had no doubt some Crow in Antiva had found a way of doing so, but unfortunately –fortunately?— for her, she was no Crow.

The third was a middle-aged knight. He didn’t wear the garb of a Templar, but he was being trained to be one. She could practically feel the lyrium coursing through his veins, and his eyes were a sickly blue. He was so focused on trying not to fall apart that he didn’t seem to really see Shaeva sitting there. His eyes were glazed over, looking at something far away.

The final guard was a lithe young woman, brown-skinned like Shaeva, and the most levelheaded of the four. She looked Antivan, and smelled like warm, brown leather. She didn’t seem to have any inner turmoil about Shaeva, which made her the most dangerous. If she wanted to escape she would have to take her down first.

The Templar had not been in again today, and Shaeva could feel her magic bubbling back to the surface. It swirled around the green energy that was the mark on her hand, testing it, probing it, and retreating when the energy bit back. She took a calming breath to focus herself. She was unstable, but she would not allow them to hold her captive for a moment longer. She had just started drawing from the Fade for an ice spell when the door to the room was thrown ajar.

Two shadowed figures stepped through the threshold before closing the door, bringing darkness once more to the small room.

The women that greeted her were not wholly unfamiliar.

The warrior led the way; her garb was that of a Seeker. Shaeva had barely heard of them, and with the way their faith was falling apart, she wasn’t interested in knowing much more than the basics. They rooted out threats in the chantry; the guard dogs of the divine. The woman must have felt at least partially responsible for the mess at the Conclave even if everyone near the Divine had die. Guard dogs rarely let sense overcome duty, after all. Any sadness or inadequacy she felt was well-guarded, however; her face was stoic.

The other woman she could recognize anywhere. The infamous Leliana, the rogue legend that had fought beside the Hero of Ferelden, was only a step behind the Seeker. Despite being so young, she already had a terrifying amount of access to nobility throughout Thedas. Even the Crows and Shaeva’s mentor had heard of her. From what Shaeva knew, she had returned to the Divine’s side after the Blight, wanting to get away from the grim violence of what Orlais and Ferelden bore. She didn’t get far, apparently. Shaeva could see the grief she was forcing back behind a rock-hard demeanor. She felt sorry for the woman. She had already been through enough.

They both wanted answers, and apparently Shaeva was the only one who could give them. The Rivaini hedge-mage with shit luck was their only hope at gaining some solace. She pitied them for that, too.

The Seeker was the first to speak, “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

A fair question, if Shaeva ever heard one. She had no answer.

“The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

Shaeva eyed her, ever wary of the sword at her side, “I suppose you want a good answer for that, but I’m afraid I cannot give you one.”

The seeker’s eyes tightened perceptibly, before she roughly grabbed Shaeva’s bound hands. The rush of energy to her palm left Shaeva breathless.

“Explain this.”

“I-” she took another breath, “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?!”

“I don’t know what that is, or how it got there!”

“You’re lying!”

Leiliana stepped in between her and the Seeker, “Peace, Cassandra.”

A silent conversation passed between them before Cassandra relented.

“Who are you?” Leliana asked.

Shaeva took another breath to steady herself, “I am Shaeva Lavellan, mage of Rivain.”

She could practically hear the gears turning in Leiliana’s head as connections were being made, “And do you remember what happened, Shaeva? How this started?”

“All I remember happened before the explosion. Everything else is…gone.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed “And what happened before exactly, why were you in Haven?”

There was no use in lying. She sighed “I was posing as a serving maid.”

Cassandra practically growled “A spy?”

Shaeva gave her a level look “Are you so naïve to think none would be at the Conclave? When the Divine calls, everyone heeds it, even the undesirables.” She looked to Leiliana, whose face was unreadable.

“So the explosion was not your doing?” Leilianna asked.

“I did not go to the Conclave with the intent of blowing everything and everyone to pieces, if that’s what you’re asking.” Shaeva said.

“Then your intent was what, exactly?” Cassandra asked.

“Dairsmuid was razed, I wanted answers. Is that so hard to believe?”

Leiliana sighed, “Unfortunately, no.”

“Then why am I still here?”

Cassandra tightened her grip on her sword, “We need you to resolve a matter.”

“And what matter would that be?”

In her messages to and from Rivain, Shaeva would often discuss with her master the religious unrest throughout Thedas. Andraste called fainter and fainter each passing day, even amongst the most steadfast of believers. Shaeva called into question the Andrastian faith. The natural order always remained intact, and nothing could shake her faith in the universe itself. Yet the stories of gods were rewritten every day. Didn’t the Fereldans still believe Andraste had a Mabari, after all? Faith in something that never gave back would eventually die. But flowers would continue to bloom, the sea would still rise and fall, and the moon and sun would continue to circle on unimpeded. This was one thing she and her master could agree on.

She wasn’t sure where the natural order fit into this.

The cold bit into her as she was escorted outside, but that was the least of her worries as Cassandra directed her attention to the sky.

The heavens blared a sickly green, as a gaping hole filled a large portion of the sky. She could feel the opening call out to her hand with a haunting melody that caused goosebumps to spring up along her arm. Her blood grew hot, and the pain and song both echoed on as Cassandra led her out of her once-prison. Leliana had gone ahead to handle a situation, leaving the Seeker and her to get more acquainted. Shaeva was sure the only thing Cassandra wanted to “acquaint” with her was the sharp end of her sword.

“We call it ‘the Breach’.” Cassandra sprung her from her thoughts “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.”

Shaeva could almost laugh at the irony. She had always wanted to commune with spirits, now was her chance.

“It’s not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“So now the world is physically ripping apart. Lovely.”

Cassandra shook her head disapprovingly, “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the whole world.”

Her mark pulsed again, and her own magic rushed to fight off the foreign energy. Shaeva could not withhold the scream this time; the pain was more intense than before. She fell to the ground, the cool snow a balm to her burning body.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads,” Cassandra knelt to her side “And it is killing you.”

“You think I can stop it.” It was not a question.

Cassandra nodded, “It is speculation, but yes. Will you cooperate?”

She did not want to die. She absently traced the mark with her fingers. She couldn’t die, not without getting justice for what happened at Dairsmuid, and killing whoever was responsible. She couldn’t rest knowing that she had gotten away while others had burned. She would live. If not for herself, then for those who had died in her stead.

“Where do we start?”


	2. Chapter 2

Trust did not come easily to Cassandra, though Shaeva could hardly blame the Seeker for being wary. Trust was not easy to give, and Shaeva couldn’t say she trusted the Seeker, either. She only trusted that she was needed, and that would keep her alive, at least for the time being. Eventually, they reconciled. Shaeva had gotten a staff, and they began making their way to one of the “rifts” Cassandra spoke of. There was an intensity to the way Cassandra fought, a passion that was not entirely born of her need to survive. She lived in battle, thrived in it. It was enthralling to watch, and a bit terrifying. Even with the situation so dire, her sword had an unwavering edge. And, as they tore through the demons in their path, Shaeva became less and less sure that she would be able to fend off the woman if she wanted to escape. The fighting grew louder as they approached the hilltop, and Shaeva soon learned why.

Demons poured out of a small portal, the rift Cassandra spoke of earlier, as a dwarf and elf did their best to fend them off.

“We must help them!” Cassandra took the lead, her sword already drawn.

They leapt over the small ledge that separated them from the fighting and threw themselves into battle. Cassandra went to aid the dwarf, keeping the demons from overwhelming the long range rogue, and Shaeva directed her aid to the elf. She did her best to fight with the staff she had found, working into an easy rhythm. Her magic was slowly coming back to her, and the mark had become easier to work around, though Shaeva was unsure as to why.

Finally, the demons were vanquished, and Shaeva paused to catch her breath. The elf from before rushed to her side, grabbing her hand firmly in his.

“Quickly, before more come through!”

Was the only warning she got, before her hand was slammed into the rift.

It was not painful, but that didn’t make it pleasant.

An enormous pressure rushed through her palm, like floodwaters rushing through a small crack in a dam. Her mark swallowed current after current of energy, insatiable and eager as the essence of the Fade sparked around her hand. The power kept siphoning into her, even when she felt as if she would burst. The pressure kept building higher and higher until her ears began to ring. She wanted to pull away, but the elf beside her kept her hand in place. His own form rigid and resolute despite the task before them. Slowly, the portal began falling apart, the hole crumbling away as the demons on the other side howled with grief, their means of escape now lost. She could hear them, chanting promises and wishes unfulfilled before their voices were cut off for good and the lips of the rift sealed shut. The song she heard earlier echoed one last time before it ended with an abrupt crackle.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in, turning to the elf beside her, “What did you do?”

“I did nothing, the credit is yours.” He said nonchalantly.

Her palm was still buzzing and her ears still rang, but the pressure had faded away. She looked to where the portal had been only moments ago. “Incredible.”

“Whatever magic opened the breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake.” He gave her a satisfied smile, “And it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.” Cassandra added.

“Possibly.” he turned to Shaeva once more, “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Salvation. Now that was a strong word. Her eyes shifted away from his gaze.

“Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.” The dwarf chimed in, cleaning off stray entrails from his coat.

“Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong” He winked.

Cassandra grimaced.

Shaeva gave him a once over. His name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. He had a confident gait for a dwarf. Poised, even. There was a glint to his eye that held something adventurous, and the crossbow on his back was intriguing in design. The way he handled it told her it meant a lot to him.

“Pleased to meet you, Varric.”

“You may reconsider that stance, in time.” the elf said

“Aw, I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.”

Shaeva withheld a giggle, “Chuckles? I assume that’s a nickname?”

“He will give you one, too, soon enough.” The elf sighed.

Varric and Cassandra began an argument on whether or not he _was_ going to the valley, but Shaeva tuned them out for the moment. The mark had finally stopped buzzing, and she let out a small breath in relief. How many more rifts would there be? If they were all like this one, she wasn’t sure how well her body could keep up. She looked once more to the elf who had helped her close the rift, he eyed her with interest.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means, ‘I kept that mark on your hand from killing you while you slept’.” Varric added. He and Cassandra seemed to have settled the dispute, or she had simply given up. Shaeva leaned toward the latter.

If Shaeva could pick one word to describe Solas it would be unobtrusive, but she knew better than to judge by appearance alone. Being unobtrusive was tactical, it meant you could do as you liked while no one looked twice. Perhaps it was because he was a mage. Apostates rarely had an easy time of things. There was a softness to his eyes, though, a kindness. She couldn’t help but remember his grip on her hand when she closed the portal. His hand had been warm. He had also saved her life, and, according to Varric, had kept the mark from killing her. She was indebted to him, but he was no seer, for him to know so much about the Fade was strange.

“You seem to know a great deal about the Fade. Why is that?”

His eyes lit up at the question. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the fade, far beyond the experience of any circle mage.”

A vague answer, but Shaeva supposed he had no reason to tell her everything about himself. Still, he piqued her curiosity.

Cassandra directed her attention to the path ahead, and the party of four moved out.

 

The dwarf and elven mage were interesting companions, and balanced out Cassandra’s stoicism and mistrust when it wasn’t all directed at her. Light comments and conversation floated about the group, and for the first time in a long time, Shaeva was among people instead of watching them from afar.

Her second rift closing had been almost natural. The mark was attracted to the energy. It sprung to life at her side, and she directed it as best as she was able. The pressure was still there, but it was barely noticeable. There was a small hiccup as she tried to manipulate it, but she pushed past it, and with a flick of her wrist, the rift snapped shut. The familiar buzzing sensation returned, and she clenched and unclenched her fist to relieve it.

Cassandra called for the gates to be opened shortly after.

People were tired, supplies were low, as was morale, and they must have been on constant watch to keep the demons at bay. And, even though Shaeva knew she was not the _direct_ cause of the troubles these people were facing, she could not help but feel guilty. Especially after being on the receiving end of some choice looks by the soldiers.

Leiliana was a welcome distraction.

“I hearby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!”

Or not.

As always, politics came first. Shaeva did her best to hold her tongue as the Chancellor, Cassandra, and Leiliana prattled on about who was in charge, and what their plan of action should be. She had thought she had rid herself of this line of work years ago.

“Justinia is dead. We must elect a replacement and obey her orders on the matter.”

Shaeva’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, elections, of course! Perfect timing. Why not champion one of the demons at your doorstep, since you seem so eager?”

Varric covered up a laugh with a well-placed cough.

“The nerve—”

Cassandra held up her hand “Enough. We must get to the temple, it’s the quickest route.”

“But not the safest,” Leiliana pointed to a secluded path,“Our forces can charge as a distraction, while we go through the mountains.”

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path, it’s too risky.”

As if responding to their urgency, the Breach expanded again, and Shaeva’s hand responded duly. She gripped her wrist, the energy pulsating violently, trying to force its way back to its source. Her body was growing more accustomed to the shockwaves, and the certainty that came with that knowledge unnerved her.

“How do _you_ think we should proceed?” Cassandra asked her.

She looked at the rift above them. The faster they got to it, the faster she could plan her means of escape and get out of this mess.

“We take the mountain path. The Breach is our main priority.”

Mixed feelings of disapproval and understanding flitted in Cassandra’s eyes before she nodded in agreement.

They set out for the mountain path, the wind blowing ominously behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

Shaeva could not remember a time when she did not miss the warm Rivaini sun, and now was no different. Even while walking and climbing, the mountain air bit through her mercilessly. Her brown skin paling from the frost, and her limbs sticking and unsticking in the snow. The farther they climbed, the worse the wind howled. It was proving to be yet another enemy they had to overcome. Her skirts were heavier than the ones she was used to wearing, but they weren’t meant for climbing ladders. Even her leather leggings were getting pierced by the icy air. Her companions seemed no less worse for wear, and she didn’t even want to _think_ on how Solas survived with his shoeless state. The thought caused another shiver to rip through her frame.

She was glad she had picked the quicker route.

Cassandra had gone along with her decision, which wasn’t too surprising— she had the mark, after all, it only made sense that she would have a say in what their plan of action was.

However, she would be lying to say it was a chivalrous course of action. Spies and scouts were fed to the wolves all the time. She had been, too, on occasion. She had always managed to find a way out, but others had not been so lucky. Sometimes, the mission was more important than those who participated, and that was just how things were. Her associates had known the risk, had known what they had been fighting for, as she was sure the scouts had.

Still, there was the familiar tinge of hope that sparked in the back of her mind, that they could still be alive.

She did her best to ignore it, but climbed the ladders a little faster.

The tunnel they entered was cramped and damp, and of course home to demons. Thankful to shake off some of the cold, Shaeva attacked them with fervor. She channeled into the excess chill, shaking it off her frame by firing off a few ice spells. It had the desired effect. She could feel warmth flow through her again after the demons were vanquished.

The stench of blood and decay was a constant in the stagnant tunnel, and the smell reminded her of Antivan palaces, soaked rotten with blood and gold. The dampness only heightened the smell, the wet mold mixing with the acerbic tang of blood did not bring up pleasant thoughts. She would have gagged if she weren’t so used to it. She heard Varric trying to cough the bad air out of his lungs, and saw Cassandra cover her nose with her hand. She felt sorry for their discomfort, and was hyperaware of the ease at which she dealt with the smell. Solas glanced at her curiously and she glanced back, cocking an eyebrow before he turned away. He hadn’t covered his mouth, either. One had to learn to sit amongst death for it to become negligible.

She took a calming breath before moving on to the exit.

She was not at all surprised to find three corpses awaiting her there.

Two men and one woman lay on the cold stone, the snow already beginning to cover up their forms with a layer of absolving frost.

Varric’s shoulders slumped. “Guess we found the soldiers…”

Their bodies were warped at sickening angles, but the blood was still relatively fresh. Their death had been swift and had not been too painful.

Cassandra’s brow creased. “That cannot be all of them.”

“So, the others could be holed up ahead!” Varric responded.

“Our priority must be the Breach. Unless we seal it soon, no one is safe!” Solas said.

His words rang in her head, further stirring up memories that the smell from the tunnel had unearthed. She recalled the cool gardens of Antiva city, glistening with dew from the nightly rainfall. The smell of the docks after midnight, soaked with perspiration and hearty fish stews, the fisherman laughing like chantry bells as they returned home. The feel of the roof tiles underneath her feet, so red that they seemed to glow under the moonlight. Her blade glinting the same crimson. Everything seemed so much clearer at night. Everything came alive, including her.

_“He must be your number one priority, Shaeva. Remember what you stand for!”_

_Yes_ , she thought, _the mission must always come first._

She felt the memory rip away as she faced the cool mountain air again, the smell of blood fading.

They had only been running a minute or two before they heard the shouting. Shaeva’s hand buzzed.

Another rift.

What was it about third times being either exceptionally daring or terrible? Shaeva was not sure, but the demons flew out with a fury that she hadn’t seen in the past two rifts. Behind them, fighting with what seemed to be their last breaths, were the remaining scouts.

Cassandra had been right— they had survived.

The demons had still not noticed their presence, and the scouts were quickly being overwhelmed. Shaeva could dive into trouble head on, or she could end the battle before it really began. She had felt it briefly before, on the second rift she had closed. She had warped the Fade and caused the demons to falter, if only for a moment.

Solas cast a barrier around them and began attacking, Varric fired off a volley of arrows, and Cassandra rushed to the frontlines, trying to stem the tide.

Shaeva held up her hand to the rift and focused on the energy shared between the portal and her palm. It was slight, but she could feel it vibrate beneath her skin, pulsing like a heartbeat. She tried to get it to speed up, though it was harder than she thought it would be. Her own magic was still unused to the marks peculiar energy. She tried pushing it aside, to make room. The thump thumping of the rift grew faster, and she urged it to go faster still.

Her companions had finished off the first wave of demons, but the rift was still reeling, still welcoming more through. A second wave poured in, more deadly than the last. She had still not managed to make the connection she was looking for.

“Shaeva!” Cassandra called out.

She and the others had taken position in front of her, and Cassandra must have been baffled by her inaction. But, she was close, she would not stop.

Lithe, spry creatures sprung from the ground, jumping to each attacker through portals beneath their feet, screeching and clawing their way across the scouts and her companions. The scouts backed farther into a corner, their weapons faltering due to fatigue. Shaeva kept calm amongst the chaos, continuing to focus on the now rapidly increasing pulse of the rift.

Out of the corner of her eye, a scout fell to the ground, her sword ripped from her hands, as a rage demon approached. Molten fire dripping down its belly, searing through the light armor the scout had on. It raised a clawed hand to strike her down. Shaeva briefly saw Cassandra turn to her aid, but she would be too late. Solas did not have enough mana for another barrier. Varric was still reloading. The woman’s raw scream ripped through the air.

Finally Shaeva felt the connection, and pulled.

The rift burst, green energy splaying about and piercing the demons like so many arrows. Some fell where they stood, others seemed disabled, frozen, and open to attack. The rage demon fell back, disoriented and confused.

Shaeva threw an ice spell its way, freezing it. The scout recovered, grabbed her sword, and smashed it through the demons skull, shattering it.

Her companions wasted no time finishing off the remaining few, and the rift’s pulsing finally stopped.

Shaeva lifted her hand once more. She flicked her wrist with finality, and the portal snapped shut, her hand buzzing again from the sensation.

“A unique method, I had not thought you could disrupt it.” Solas was at her side panting.

“Better to test it out now than wait until the Breach itself.” She replied.

Varric wiped off the demon blood from ‘Bianca’, “A little warning would’ve been nice. Second time today I almost became demon food.”

“Noted.”

Cassandra helped the scout from before to her feet, keeping her steady. They must have been fighting for hours in the cold. Leiliana knew how to recruit.

“Thank the Maker you finally arrived, Lady Cassandra. I don’t think we could have held out much longer.”

“Thank our prisoner, Lieutenant, she insisted we come this way.”

Well, that made her seem almost noble, didn’t it? Their survival had been out of pure luck, not concentrated effort. But as she looked into the eyes of the young woman, she could not bear to kick her when she was already down, dirty, and tired—she wasn’t that cruel.

“It was worth saving you, if we could.”

The woman straightened before saluting Shaeva, “Then you have my sincere gratitude.”

“The way into the valley behind us is clear for the moment. Go, while you still can.” Cassandra said.

“At once.” she gave a short nod, before rallying her remaining men back to the direction of the tunnels.

Shaeva briefly wondered what they would do with the bodies once they found them. Had they known they had died, or had they hoped for the best when they retreated into the mountains?

“The path ahead seems to be clear of demons, as well” Solas said.

“Let’s hurry before that changes.” Cassandra said, before taking lead.

Shaeva allowed herself to look over her shoulder, just once, to see the scouts, knelt in prayer to mourn their former comrades. A lone hymn rose from their lips that she could hear clearly, even as the wind howled behind them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I didn’t think it made much sense for the inquisitor to automatically know how to disrupt rifts, so I made it a bit of a challenge for Shaeva in this chapter. There’s definitely going to be more mystery/intrigue surrounding the mark than shown in-game. it was such an interesting plot point and I felt it was left unresolved.


End file.
